


something appears (the strangeness & charm remix)

by bog gremlin (tomatocages)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Dhampir Keith, Getting Together, M/M, Romance, Sheith Remix 2020, Supernatural Elements, Witch Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatocages/pseuds/bog%20gremlin
Summary: Shiro is determined to confess his feelings to his best friend, Keith. There's just one problem: Keith's a dhampir, and Shiro is part fae. The combination could be volatile, so a bit of research is in order.Of course, turning to the internet to answer a relationship question has its own problems. The course of true love never did run smooth.Written for the Sheith Remix 2020 event.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 135
Collections: Sheith Remix 2020





	something appears (the strangeness & charm remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perfectlyrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlyrose/gifts).
  * Inspired by [strangeness & charm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21264509) by [perfectlyrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlyrose/pseuds/perfectlyrose). 



> I was so delighted to write this Sheith Remix pinch hit for Kelsey! You had so many amazing fics to choose from, but I loved the supernatural elements and the yearning in _strangeness & charm_. I hope you enjoy the remix! It was an honor to write for you. <3
> 
> A thousand thank-yous to [ils](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinspiration/pseuds/sinspiration) for being a wonderful beta!

Shiro knows better than to Google anything having to do with the fae. First off, most of what he finds will be wrong (he’s not convinced that the governing council isn’t monitoring those kinds of searches). Second, he’s a witch. Simply Googling is inefficient. If he didn’t know how to construct a useful search string, well, his shop wouldn't be nearly as successful as it is, because Shiro would spend all his spare time scrolling through his grimoire’s index. More time than he already spends scrolling through the grimoire, anyway; Shiro’s always looking for something. 

He’s grateful he’s a witch in the modern era, where he needn’t write innumerable letters to contacts across the globe, begging for handwritten copies of  _ their _ spellbooks. Witches aren’t immortal, and most of them are pretty pragmatic. The inventor of the digital grimoire (and its thrice-blessed automatic updates) is on the record as saying she didn’t have time to be inconvenienced by a reference manual. Shiro will live a lot longer than the average witch, but he’d rather not waste time. 

Magic can be tricky. Which is why Shiro is sitting behind the counter at his shop after hours, trying to find out if it’s safe to tell Keith he’s in love with him. Most witches wouldn’t have to stoop to reading forum posts to research magical compatibility, but most witches are not part fae. Shiro admits that the power his heritage grants him can be convenient, but it has drawbacks.

There is nothing convenient about the way Keith makes Shiro feel. 

As Keith has grown into his powers as a dhampir, Shiro has felt his own longing increase. Keith’s always treated Shiro with such tender, impatient regard that it’s a little dazzling; at first Shiro just thought it was a desire for his company, which is common. Shiro is not boastful when he thinks that he is good company, and well-regarded in his sphere of influence. Keith surprised him, though; he hasn’t  _ said _ anything that could be construed beyond friendship, and yet his attention and devotion have fed a part of Shiro that had, secretly, been starving.

It goes both ways. Shiro has collected knowledge about Keith that is secret and dear, like how he forgets his own strength and has had to repair Shiro’s workbench three times as a result. He knows that Keith’s eyes glow a little when the light is low or if he’s hungry. Keith is generous with both time and french fries; he nags Shiro to take better care of himself, and he has a mouth that Shiro longs to kiss. 

But Keith’s never had cause to look past Shiro’s human shape, scarred and patched-together as it is. Shiro doesn’t look fae (hardly anyone does), but that’s where his magic springs from, deep within his bones. Just because Shiro’s magic fountains up joyfully whenever he’s around Keith doesn’t mean Keith is safe from the things Shiro is capable of. 

Shiro has combed through all of the appendices and indexes, but his grimoire is mute on the topic. The last system update  _ still _ didn’t take into consideration that a magic user might worry about how said ability could affect the most important person in their life. Shiro isn’t being dramatic about this: Keith matters to him. 

So, with great reluctance and a deep sense of purpose, he turns to the internet. Powers save him. 

Once he narrows his search to focus on supernatural relationships (and then rewrites his search to bring up fewer romance novels...  _ after _ he’s bookmarked a few for later reading), the threads aren’t all bad. Magic user message boards are exactly like Reddit, Shiro thinks: anything can be a meme, but sometimes you find good advice. The user design is wretched, just a wall of text — Shiro’s an idiot. There’s a shortcut for this kind of thing.

He enters the command to search within the text for specific mentions of dhampirs. Shiro makes a mental list of his more egregious fae traits and compares them to the other beings who have happily kissed or cuddled or otherwise come together with dhampirs.

_ The compatibility depends, _ one forum user has written.  _ What kind of being, what kind of dhampir. Do they drink blood? How old are they? How potent of a half-breed is their partner? Banshees are bad news. _

_ Are they hot? _ Writes another, presumably before getting banned for twenty-four hours.

And someone else, in tones both promising and vague, mentions something along the lines of  _ hybrid vigor. _

“You’re useless,” Shiro hisses at the forum. It’s almost as unhelpful as his grimoire on the topic; if things don’t look up soon, he’s going to have to put in a formal information request with a fae genealogy representative, and Shiro loves Keith too much to bring that much notice down on his unfairly beautiful head. 

If he hadn’t promised to concoct three more potions, he’d consider pouring himself a drink. Not anything alcoholic, though it has some appeal: just something soothing enough to take the edge off. Shiro has caught himself admiring Keith as he helpfully restocked the herbal teas on offer, and was halfway surprised that his magic didn’t manifest as a physical flower crown to adorn Keith’s brow. Shiro’s fae ancestry leans into that kind of thing: powerful, but a little sappy. Although with Shiro’s luck, his magic won’t be compatible, and the crown will be made of wild hogweed, which is toxic — 

Shiro probably  _ should  _ eat something. 

Of course, that’s when he realizes that Keith, the source of all this focus and intensity, is standing in front of him. Shiro yelps and pushes down on the power button with too much force, pinching a cuticle in the process. 

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Keith says. His grin is wider than an autumn pumpkin’s — fitting, with Hallowe’en just a week and a half away — and Shiro is flustered by the sharpness of his fangs.

“Some people knock,” Shiro grumbles, trying to settle his racing heart, and adds,“thought vampires had to be invited in, anyway,” even though he knows that’s just for homes and wouldn’t apply to Keith in any case. Keith’s a dhampir, sure, but more importantly: he is always welcome. Shiro’s magic wants to wrap itself around Keith and pull him close. 

“You’d work yourself into an early grave if I didn’t bother you here,” Keith says. He has that soft-focus look he gets sometimes, the kind of expression that makes Shiro run a web search if only so he can reassure Keith that he won’t outlive him and thus need to mourn him.

“I’ll fit in with the rest of the seasonal decor,” Shiro banters back. He moves away from his discarded tablet. He’s sacrificed time he doesn’t have to spare, conducting this research, and he’ll be up all night if he doesn’t get back to work. 

“You’ve got to take better care of yourself,” Keith snaps. He looks angry, like he might snarl; Shiro knows Keith won’t, because Shiro’s been the cause of this particular frustration time and again. 

“I have work to do,” he says. “I promised.” Which isn’t much of an answer. It could be — if Shiro can muster up the courage to be honest. Changing the subject is about all he can manage in the moment.

Keith relents a little and reverts back to teasing. “Busy reading porn again?”

“Keith!  _ No,  _ not this time!” Shiro’s love stories aren’t porn, exactly — Keith knows that. He’s read several of Shiro’s favorites and given every indication of enjoying them. Shiro just likes the reminder that people can feel things that aren’t petty or small, even though he makes a living selling charms and potions that address those same exact foibles and frustrations. If life were like Shiro’s romance novels — he wouldn’t be out of a job at all, actually, but at least he might get to go home with someone who swooned at the thought of Shiro taking off his shirt in the evenings. (Shiro knows he’s beautiful. That’s another piece of the fae puzzle; he works out, but he’s aware that at least part of his charisma comes from the blood.)

“Please,” Keith says. “Promise you’ll have dinner with me, and then let me help close up the shop.”

It’s not much to ask, when Keith puts it that way. And Shiro  _ is _ very hungry. 

* * *

Shiro’s always liked the little diner he and Keith end up at. It’s not just the food: it’s the place itself. Shiro has lived a long time and he’ll live longer yet, but the diner is immortal in its own way. He likes knowing that twenty years from now, fifty, a hundred — someone will walk through the door and order a milkshake before sliding into the shabby vinyl booth. Even if the booths are reupholstered, this is the sort of place that is haunted by the sagging butt imprints of all the sorry asses that have sat there before. Shiro likes being part of something bigger than himself, even if that something is a greasy diner with the best peach milkshakes he’s ever had. 

Keith lets him eat the pickles off his burger, too. Shiro loves pickles: they’re magic, too. Transfiguration. Whenever he eats one, he gets a snappy memory of the cucumber’s life from seed to fruit, and the ecstasy of brine. 

Shiro wonders if blood is like that, for Keith. 

Shiro wonders a lot of things. 

Keith doesn’t nag Shiro about how hard he works during dinner. He’s as chatty as Keith ever gets, and attentive to boot — and yet Shiro can feel some tension creeping off him. Shiro can safely say that Keith is his dearest friend, but he’s not sure what that means — is Keith anticipating something? Did he drink his milkshake too fast and give himself brain freeze? 

Later, Shiro will know that Keith was afraid, just as Shiro has been. He’ll have a better idea how to soothe that ache as time goes by, but in the moment: Shiro knows something’s about the change, and a promise wraps its tiny claws around his heart and squeezes hopefully. 

When Keith fumbles with the tablet, Shiro realizes his mistake. This is it, he thinks; when Keith will realize what Shiro really is. Logically he knows Keith would never abandon him over the knowledge, but it’s one thing to learn your best friend is fae, and another thing entirely to learn he’s in love with you.

* * *

Keith takes the news with exceedingly good grace. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Shiro was right; Keith’s mouth is a delight pressed against his own. But Keith is too careful, as if worried his fangs might prick Shiro’s lip. This is ridiculous. Shiro has only held back out of fear of harming  _ Keith; _ he’s not at all concerned about a little enthusiasm. 

“Come  _ here, _ ” he mutters. Keith is strong, but Shiro is large, and it’s no strain at all to pull Keith towards him on the sofa. To manhandle him until Keith, sprawled in Shiro’s lap, loses his caution and starts to nip and lick in return. 

* * *

After that first night, Shiro’s magic starts seeking Keith more than it ever used to. It’s mostly nice, occasionally embarrassing: Shiro has startled out of a professional discussion with a colleague to realize that not only has Keith stopped by to drop off lunch, but Shiro’s magic has twined about his boyfriend and started blooming like garlands on a maypole. Shiro ought to have more control than this. He knows how to keep his power in check. 

“I like it when you give me flowers,” Keith says, when Shiro brings it up. 

“I like giving you flowers,” Shiro concedes. He  _ does _ . Also, some of the flowers he’s manifested around Keith are pretty hard to find, so being in love has been good for business. “I just feel...overwhelmed.”

Keith regards Shiro thoughtfully, with the intense focus Shiro used to think was a core part of his personality. Turns out it’s romantic fascination; aren’t they a pair? 

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Keith says. “Would it help if I came by less often?”

_ “No,” _ Shiro says. “I think I’m approaching this the wrong way: I spent so much time holding back around you, in case of a magical mishap, that now I’m going too far in the opposite direction. I need to adjust.” He reaches out and takes both of Keith’s hands in his own, running his thumbs over the backs of Keith’s hands to soothe any hurt. “I think the answer is — I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, Keith, you have to understand that — ”

“Shiro,” Keith says. He’s as controlled as he ever gets, holding back whatever feeling is raging within him; his fangs are sharp and his eyes are glowing red. He sounds so, so gentle. “Just tell me.”

“I think we should go on a date,” Shiro blurts out. “It might help.”

There’s a pause. Shiro’s anxiety warps time so that it feels interminable, a lonely age.

“Only if it’s not a chore,” Keith says, cautiously. Oh, dear; Shiro’s done it again. 

He tugs, pulls him close; his magic swirls around them and pushes Keith closer still. “On the contrary,” Shiro tells him. “It would be a very great pleasure.” 

* * *

  
They go apple picking, because Shiro never has learned how to separate work from pleasure. He has a couple special orders that require fresh apples, and now’s the time to get them, before they’ve spent months in cold storage. Also: it’s an excuse to get out of the shop. 

“What do you do with the leftover fruit?” Keith asks, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He looks devastatingly pretty, even if Shiro supposes he ought to think of Keith as  _ handsome. _ Shiro would like to press him against a tree and let a gust of his magic throw up autumn leaves as a screen against the rest of the world. Shiro thinks that the only reason he  _ doesn’t  _ do so is because it wouldn’t be good for the tree.

“I have a few ideas,” Shiro says. “Maybe we should make cider. Do you think that would sell in the shop? Not a lot of my potions are soluble in alcohol, but there are a few that could be seasonal.”

“I’ll make baked apples,” Keith says decisively. As if to make up for the definitiveness of the statement, he glances over at Shiro. It takes a moment, but he offers his hand to hold. Keith’s been doing that more lately, with the slightly stunned air of a man who’s been given his heart’s desire. Shiro wishes he’d noticed how much the thought of mis-matched lifespans had worn on him. “What do you need, again?”

“Calville Blancs,” Shiro says. “And Wolf River. And Spies, if they have them.”

“They sound like spell ingredients,” Keith says. 

“Everything sounds like a spell ingredient, once you’ve spent time with me,” Shiro says, a little wryly. He squeezes Keith’s hand, to show he’s joking; Keith doesn’t like it when Shiro puts himself down. “This one is  _ comfort me with apples. _ The spell I’m casting doesn’t use the apple itself, just the skin and pips; it doesn’t specify a variety. I want those apples because I heard they’re good for pie.”

“Oh,” Keith says. “I like pie.” He looks momentarily disappointed with himself, as if he can’t believe he wasted a moment of this conversation stating a fact not directly related to their relationship. Sometimes Shiro forgets that Keith’s been yearning, too. 

“I know,” Shiro says. “I want to make you one.”

It’s fortunate that the orchard contains a few sturdy hickories, in addition to the fruit trees. They’re much better suited for leaning against while kissing your boyfriend and whispering how much you appreciate him in his ear. 

* * *

Shiro sort of regrets combining a date with an errand, but the overall goal was met. He spent hours in Keith’s company, soaking up the sweet reciprocity of Keith’s feelings. To improve matters even more, Keith helps carry in the bushel baskets (he’s so strong; it’s a pleasure to see him wield that strength, and in Shiro’s service! That... might be a fae thing) and then sits companionably behind the counter, peeling apples while Shiro cores them. It smells like apple juice, and the sharp cinnamon scent of those ridiculous pine cones people buy for bonfires (Shiro is among their number. He keeps an entire bag of them under the counter). 

“What made you think of going on a date?” Keith asks. He’s using his knife to disrobe the apple skin in one long, continuous peel. Shiro didn’t even have to ask for it; Keith either knew what Shiro’s spell needed, or he’s showing off. 

“Hmm,” Shiro says. He doesn’t want to say,  _ I was looking up relationship advice on a forum again. _ He can’t honestly say the idea came from his own pure brain. Since their fateful discussion, just before Hallowe’en, they’ve mostly spent time together while Shiro is at work. There has been a great deal of gentle flirting over inventory lists, and an acceptable amount of playing cribbage (Keith has created a complicated point system using a leftover bag of seasonal candy). In Shiro’s defense, this is often followed by a nightcap and a cuddle. But it’s hardly how he imagined their relationship unfolding.

“Shiro,” Keith sets the knife down and gives him his full attention. Shiro loves the attention and his magic does as well. He has to stop coring apples so he doesn’t inadvertently nick his human hand. “You didn’t — ”

“It’s research, Keith,” Shiro says hurriedly. “I’m a witch. I consult appropriate sources.”

“In this case, I think I might be more appropriate than a supernatural forum,” Keith points out. “Shiro, I don’t care what we do — I care that I’m spending time with you.”

Shiro — does know that. He’s just used to caution, and double-checking a spell before casting. “I want you to know I want you,” he says. “But you have to admit, the flowers were kind of overkill.”

Keith shrugs. “I told you, I like them.” 

“They’re just,” Shiro flicks the fingers of his prosthetic in agitation and encourages a little illusion of fireflies to appear; they hover around Keith’s face, like a halo. “Obvious.” 

“Shiro,” Keith leans up into his space and bumps noses with him, more of a nuzzle. The fireflies, traitorous little motes, circle around the both of them, a fairy-chain made of light. “I like  _ you.” _

Heedless of his apple-sticky hands, Shiro gives into temptation and drags Keith up to perch in his lap. It’s awkward; Shiro might have to replace the wooden stools he keeps behind the counter, because he’d like to make a habit of cuddling with Keith no matter where they end up. 

“I’m going to get better at this,” Shiro promises. “Just watch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shiro is quoting Song of Solomon 2:5 (KJV): “Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.” The meaning of “sick” here is more “yearning” as opposed to “illness/disgust,” fwiw. I imagine his spell is one that supports community bonds or something. Pairs well with pie, which serves the same function. Either that or he’s being very pretentious about making apple jelly.
> 
> You can talk to me about sheith and apple picking on [twitter](https://twitter.com/boggremlin).


End file.
